


Whole new high

by FangHeart24583



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Shameless Smut, Top!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:19:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangHeart24583/pseuds/FangHeart24583
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock lay on the kitchen table, legs winding endlessly around each other, pale skin glowing under the fluorescent lights. And oh, so much flesh was showing. For once John didn't mind not having an imagination, because Sherlock's skin-tight black boxers were making it unnecessary.<br/>     "I'm bored."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, readers. I don't know if anyone is going to read this, but this is the start.

     There hadn't been a case in a while. John absently noted Sherlock's tall frame gracefully stumbling into the kitchen. He almost said something, but bit his tongue when he caught sight of Holmes's arm, and the agitated needle-thin spot of injection. A small sigh escaped John's lips.

     He usually wasn't around for when Sherlock went into one of his "moods," but this was the third night in a row that John's flatmate had been driven to a drug-induced stupor. John didn't want to leave his friend alone, unsupervised, not when Sherlock was in such a state. 

     "John," the devil himself called slowly from the kitchen. John sighed and put his face in his hands.

     "Yes, Sherlock?" he called in a tired voice. An impatient foot-tapping came from the kitchen.

     "Could you come here for a minute?" Sherlock asked in a demanding tone, the tapping becoming louder, sharper. John sunk further down his chair in defeat before taking an agonizingly slow time to stand. John was certain he could hear his jaw disconnect as it hit the floor when he entered the kitchen.

     Sherlock lay on the kitchen table, legs winding endlessly around each other, pale skin glowing under the fluorescent lights. And oh, so much flesh was showing. For once John didn't mind not having an imagination, because Sherlock's skin-tight black boxers were making it unnecessary.

     "I'm bored," he stated it as calmly as if he were declaring the weather. This wasn't what surprised John, though; what surprised him was that Holmes swung his legs over the edge, subtly offering a seat to Watson. John- with an overwhelming amount of eagerness and suspicion all at once- sat beside Sherlock.

     "I want to fuck you," the raven-haired bloke said softly, an underlying edge alerting John's senses. Really, it was eery how Sherlock could just...say things. He didn't care if what was being said was received with joy or spite. John felt himself shudder at the power his flat-mate held over others by his command of voice and words alone. 

     John realized that he was staring at Sherlock's hair while he processed everything. His eyes travelled to the slightly-swollen lips uttering such forbidden things. Sherlock Holmes did not have sex! He did not have feelings! He just...was.

     "Err...say that again?" John stuttered. Sherlock groaned, but John could see a slight smile on the sociopath's lips. Their eyes caught, and John's faint smirk dropped. Sherlock's pupils were dilated to hell.

     "You're high," Watson stated the obvious, and he flushed, thinking about taking advantage of his friend. "You're _high,"_ he hissed, standing and storming towards the door in humiliation and rage.

     "John."

     Of course, John had to stop. Damn it, he thought as his feet stopped moving. John cast a glare at his shoes. Traitors, he hissed silently at them.

    "Here. Now," Sherlock commanded. John almost stormed off to spite his flat-mate, but was interrupted by a quiet plea.

     "Please."

     John sighed. He slowly turned, unwillingly resigned to his fate. The soldier cast his eyes to the floor and shuffled to a stop in front of Sherlock.

     "Sit beside me," the tone was deceivingly meek, just a touch of bashful. John wasn't sure if he lacked the willpower to look into Sherlock's eyes, or had too much. Keeping his gaze downward, the doctor carefully crawled onto the table.

     John almost screamed in shock at the hand that was (shamelessly) pulling his shirt off, then dipping into John's trousers.

     "Sh-Sher-Sherlock," he gritted, his voice conveying panic. "What are you-"

     "Quiet, John," Sherlock whispered in a gentle voice. "Trust me." That caused John to let out a bark of laughter.

     "The words "trust me" should never be spoken by you for the general safety of the public," John whispered with a smirk. The smirk was replaced by a gasp as Sherlock's hand brushed over an area the sociopath should never touch. "Sherlock..." John whispered urgently, his whole body rigid.

     Sherlock smiled. He leaned forward and wrapped the doctor's arms around his neck. Placing his lips beside John's ear, he whispered three words that sent a shiver down John's spine.

     "Hold on tight."


	2. Like A Violin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock loved being a tease. He loved playing with his prey before devouring it, especially when he was under the influence. John should have known what he was getting into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, just a teaser. I'm baiting you

    Sherlock loved being a tease. He loved playing with his prey before devouring it, especially when he was under the influence. John should have known what he was getting into (or who was getting into him, to be precise).

    "I'm going to make you scream, Jonathan," Sherlock hissed as he attacked John's neck with his lips and teeth, leaving marks all over. "But you're going to go through hell before I let you scream the final time."

    John hummed lightly in response, unable to form words. Sherlock's dastardly lips smirked against the doctor's flushed skin. The consulting detective soon was bored of biting. With a wicked glint in his eyes, Sherlock slowly crept his hand to the waistband of John's trousers. He gently started undoing the buttons and pulling them off.

    "I'm going to play you like a violin," was the only warning John had before Sherlock's mouth was no longer on his neck. He gasped as he felt Holmes's warm mouth encompass his member. Sherlock took advantage of John's shock, using the time to pull off the rest of the clothes barely clinging to John's body.

    John gripped the table as his room mate's tongue worked wonders. Maybe _this_  was what Sherlock did before they met. John knew that he would give his entire wallet to anyone that willingly did this to him. He whimpered as Sherlock sucked all of his willpower and logic.

    "Sherlock," he hissed in warning. John could feel the tightening in his stomach, the blissful white-hot agony ripping through him. Just as he was about to come, divine relief within his grasp, Sherlock pulled away. John glared at his flatmate as soon as he realized what happened.

    "Way to be anti-climatic," he mumbled. Sherlock grinned like a child and grabbed John's hand.

    "This way!" he shouted giddily, dragging the doctor towards the bedroom. John paled in anticipation of what was about to happen. With a gulp, John crossed the threshold and entered Sherlock's room.

    "God save me," he whispered. He heard Sherlock chuckle.

    "Too late for that, John," said the brunette.


	3. Entwined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Spread your legs," the taller man almost growled as he removed his fingers from John. The doctor groaned at the sudden lack of warmth inside him, but followed orders. At this point, Sherlock was becoming aggressive.  
> John had to admit that it was becoming a fetish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK

    Sherlock almost immediately dropped his childish act as he crawled into his bed, still holding tightly to John's hand. He let go after a few seconds so that he could lounge nonchalantly. John quickly scrambled to Sherlock's side. The doctor narrowed his eyes when he looked over his flatmate's shoulder.

    "I know that this isn't the best time, but...is that an eyeball in a jar, sitting on the shelf?" John said slowly. The consulting detective smirked mischievously.

    "You're right, now is not a good time," Sherlock whispered in a sultry tone as he leaned forward and ran his hands through John's hair. "Just ignore it, it isn't _really_  watching."

Somehow, that didn't do much to reassure Jonathan.

    "Ah!" he gasped as Sherlock bit his neck and sucked hard. "Nnng," he moaned as the sociopathical bloke broke away so that he could kiss John. The doctor was so entranced, he didn't notice that Sherlock was sliding off the scandalous pants and applying lubricant to his phallus.

    "Are-" Sherlock gently pecked John's lips, "you ready-" he now kissed John's jawline, "to cross-" now his neck, "the point of-" the nook of John's neck, then Sherlock teasingly kissed his companion's nipple and whispered seductively, "no return?"

    John could barely even nod his consent. He knew that Sherlock was playing him, but he wasn't so against it. Yes, he'd regret it in the morning but-

Oh! What- what on Earth was-

    "Sh- Sherlock!" John squeaked. "Why are your fingers there?!" and then it hit him. Sex. Gay sex. Two males.  He blushed and whispered softly, "Oh...never mind." Sherlock laughed lightly as he prodded his fingers further into John's entrance. How could Sherlock possibly know the dynamics of this?

    "I know that it hurts at first, but you have to trust me, because I'm not letting you back out now," the raven-haired bloke stated calmly. John tensed. Sherlock sighed and kissed John softly. "If you truly do not want this, tell me now, for I fear that once I lose control of my inhibition, I shan't gain it back," he warned gently.

    After a moment's hesitation, John murmured, "No, I think I quite enjoy where this is going." He could feel Sherlock's smug grin in the air around them, and in response he gently pinched the brunette's bum.

    "Oi!" Sherlock hissed. "What do you think you're doing?" John just grinned and started kissing him, shifting around to try and make the fingers inside himself a little more comfortable. After a few minutes, Sherlock started moving his fingers more, doing his best to prepare John.

Overall, it was just awkward.

    Sherlock broke away from the kiss and gently curled his fingers inside of John, who gasped as the fingers glided over his prostate. "Lie on your back," he commanded gruffly. John was only too eager to comply at this point. He quickly leaned back, resting his head on the pile of sheets and pillows that had been moved to the top of the bed.

    "Spread your legs," the taller man almost growled as he removed his fingers from John. The doctor groaned at the sudden lack of warmth inside him, but followed orders. At this point, Sherlock was becoming aggressive.

John had to admit that it was becoming a fetish.

    Sherlock pushed one knee between the doctor's legs, lifting John up so that they looked into each other's eyes.

    "Bite my shoulder," he whispered in a stern (but much more affectionate) tone. John was dubious, but did as he was told. Sherlock then raised his companion's legs so that they wrapped around his lankily graceful waist. John nearly whimpered with apprehension. Making sure to be gentle, Sherlock positioned himself and John, entering the now-trembling doctor. Sherlock felt pressure on his shoulder as his flatmate bit down as soft as he could.

    "Do you know how beautiful we are, John?" he murmured, almost clandestinely. "Look, John. Do you see the mirror on the back of the door?" he felt John move his head to look. Holmes smiled. "We are infinite, John. Skin tones clashing elegantly, legs endlessly tangled, bodies flowing as if we were streams entwining. We are perfection, John."

    John was unwinding, and quickly. Gun fights, psychopaths, evil co-workers, all this he could handle with ease (with a side of swearing and alcohol, anyway).

Sherlock was proving to be more difficult to handle.

    The words being breathed into John's ear affected him like the opium did Sherlock. This- this was revolutionary. As Sherlock gently fucked him into blissful oblivion, John started whispering back. As far as either of them could tell, it was babbles of "more," "please," "Sherlock," "fuck," and "beautiful." But it was enough to get his point across.

    "Sherlock- I-" John tried to warn as he felt a strain in the pits of his stomach. Sherlock silenced him with a kiss. John moaned into his companion's swollen lips as he reached his climax. Sherlock pulled away and sighed, laying his head on John's shoulder as he, too, reached sweet release.

    After a minute or so of comfortable silence, John noticed how ruined the sheets were. He looked up to see a smirking Sherlock. John's eyes narrowed. "Why are you smiling so satanically?" he whispered to the now-manic sociopath. Sherlock leaned forward and whispered, "It's your night to do laundry."

    John groaned and buried his face in the nook of Sherlock's neck. "Good news, though," Holmes said in a lighter tone. John peeked up at him, not removing his head. Sherlock grinned down at Watson. "I can give up the opium now-" he pointed them both to the mirror on the door, at the two holding each other and whispered to the reflections, "I've found a whole new high."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks


End file.
